Dry as Rain by Gina Holmes Read Free Book Online Page A

the candles. You, my little chili pepper, are hot enough to warm us both.”
    She pulled away. Even then, Kyra could be so stubborn. Until the scene was perfectly set, love would have to wait.
    Shutting the front door behind me, I grinned at the bittersweet memory. Oh, but that wait had been so worth it. I could almost taste her cherry lip gloss, feel her breath on my neck and imagine her silky hair between my fingertips. I hadn’t known when I’d given her the nickname that she’d live up to it.
    An undercurrent of longing pulled at me with such unexpected force I felt as though my guts were being yanked right out. Ushering the memory from my mind and my feet forward, I made my way to the dining room.
    Ghosts of holidays past lingered around the table as well as the countless meals Kyra and I shared there over the years. If I had known the last time we sat there together would be the last time, what would I have done differently?
    On the oval mahogany table rested a picture of me hugging a younger Benji. It was winter and we both wore toboggan caps and the thick, itchy sweaters Kyra’s mother had made for us the Christmas before she died. In the photograph, a snowman, who had lost one of its pebble eyes, leaned beside us. Benji had an arm wrapped around its misshapen shoulder, wearing a smile more blinding than the snow.
    It was the first and only snowman we’d ever made together. Kyra had taken over that job in winters that followed. Although I was glad my salary could afford her staying home, I still found myself jealous about all I had to miss that she was able to enjoy. Especially the snowmen.
    I traced Benji’s sweet photographed face, regret eating at my insides like battery acid. The picture was displayed inside a simple black frame and rested in front of Kyra’s spot at the table. Her chair was still pulled out and a glass of water, half-empty, stood beside it. This was where she had been sitting when Benji had called from Great Lakes; I was sure of it. Maybe she’d been looking at the picture, thinking about how, despite her protests, I had bought our son a bucket of army men for his seventh birthday.
    I left the dining room and headed for our bedroom.
    As I walked down the hall, my fingertips dragged along the shelves holding our family photos. I paused in front of our wedding portrait. In her flowing white gown, Kyra stood before me, her arms draped over my tuxedo-clad shoulders. Bride and groom stared into each other’s eyes as all the hope in the world passed between us in the form of a smile.
    My hands trembled as I fought the urge to slam my fist into it—shattering the lie of that promise of a happily ever after. Why did she still display it while kicking me out of her life? She was never one to worry about keeping up appearances. It made no sense, but then neither did she most of the time. That was the one thing that hadn’t changed over the years—I knew when I’d said “I do” that when it came to understanding her, I didn’t, and never would.
    Standing before our closed bedroom door, I leaned my forehead against the painted wood. How was I going to face her today? She’d take one look at me and know what I’d done. Maybe I should just sit her down and tell her the whole truth. Maybe if she understood why I’d done it . . .
    Yeah, right after she puts a lawyer on retainer.
    I opened the bedroom door and the smell of flowers hit me. A powdering of deodorizer blanketed the beige carpet. The vacuum cleaner stood plugged in and ready to suck it up. I walked to my closet and opened the door. Half my suits and shirts still hung there, but not for long. She’d be throwing my stuff out the windows soon enough. I closed the door and turned around.
    Our poster bed stood neatly made and looked the same as always except that all four of the pillows were now piled on her side with a novel resting beside them. I turned it over and